


resting in my arms again

by nevarrans



Series: i love you more than the world can contain [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mortality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 13:58:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18477661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevarrans/pseuds/nevarrans
Summary: The Hero of Ferelden is taken from Crestwood to Skyhold, where Cullen was not prepared to see the woman he had loved for over a decade.





	resting in my arms again

The soft clopping of horse hooves against the stone bridge roused him from his slumber, blinking blearily against the dark of night. Five weeks had passed since Inquisitor Trevelyan had begun his journey to Crestwood. What little information Leliana had afforded them was a rogue Warden had taken refuge somewhere in the caves, resisting whatever forces were compelling the rest to migrate westward out of Ferelden. He and the other advisors had been keeping a particularly keen eye on Blackwall, who had opted to stay behind from this journey and mission. He showed no signs of defecting, nor did anything seem to be distressing him.

Cullen had not dwelled very long on why Warden Blackwall might be immune to whatever was infecting the other Grey Wardens. He was far more concerned with what the Wardens might do, given their sudden migration and the hunting of whatever Warden had eluded their capture.  
In truth, the Commander had been exceedingly busy over the past few weeks. When he was not busy training troops, he was hunched over his desk, drafting letters to troops spread across Ferelden and inquiring as to their statuses. He was often pulled away from his work in order to strategize with Josephine and Leliana, pouring over the war table and deciding on different approaches to a common problem the Inquisition had been tasked with. Often, these sessions would last across days, the three devolving into arguments and crumpled paper spread across the floor. The atmosphere at Skyhold was tense for everyone.

He sat up in his bed, pushing the covers to the side. He pressed his palms against his eyes as he swung his legs around, resting his feet against the wooden floor. Cullen finally felt at least marginally awake; he leaned toward the small table by his bedside and used a match to light the candle. As the gentle glow illuminated the loft where he slept, he heard hushed speaking from outside the walls as the small party continued to advance. He could not make out their faces in the darkness, and most were in cloaks to fight off the chill of the mountains. Cullen stood, hastening to great the returning members of the Inquisition and the Warden that had come to offer their assistance.

Dressed only in a nightshirt, he threw his cloak across his shoulders and pulled on his boots. He looked a bit foolish—hair disheveled, boots with no breeches, evidence of his deep sleep still across his face. He had not managed to shave before their arrival. Days had bled into weeks bled into a month of work that had absorbed him, leaving no time for anything else. It did not help that he had not taken any of the Lyrium he had grown accustomed to as a Templar, leaving him looking haggard and shortening his temper with all those around him.

Cullen walked along the battlement with the candle holder from his bedside, glancing downward at the squeak and groans of the gate as it began to roll upward. He hurried his pace, though was careful not to trip down the steps, nor lose grip of his light source. The low murmur of voices began to fill the darkness, hushed whispers out of courtesy for those who may still be sleeping before the sun rose. He tried to make out the shapes of those getting off their horses as his boots hit the sparse grass near the bridge and gate.  
The torches above the gate made it easier to see than the small flicker of his candle, though he brought it with him as he neared the group that had assembled. Inquisitor Trevelyan was assisting the last of their party off their horse, his hands at the person’s waist. As the figure was set upright, Cullen was startled by how much shorter this individual was than Fitz. His hands lingered beneath the person’s cloak, the Inquisitor locked in conversation. As he was captivated by this curious sight, he did not hear Dorian come behind him. Cullen jumped as the mage’s hand landed on his shoulder. He turned his head and was greeted to a broad grin and a raised eyebrow.

“Commander!” Dorian greeted cheerily. His voice covered whatever words Cullen may have been able to discern between the Warden and Fitz, so he put on a weary smile on for Dorian. “I do believe you may be especially delighted to see our new friend,” he continued, dropping his hand from Cullen’s cloak. “If the stories they tell in Tevinter are true, anyways. You never know. We like to distort the truth now and then to make tales a little more interesting.”

Before he had a chance to ask any questions or to make a biting retort, Dorian had turned and taken off towards the steps. Neither Sera nor Iron Bull spoke as they passed, two immersed in conversation with one another about a drinking contest while night still covered the sky. He returned his focus back toward the Inquisitor and the Warden. Fitz was walking toward him, removing the hood of his cloak. He was positively giddy, his face split into a grin as he approached Cullen. He seemed unable to stop fidgeting, his voice choked with excitement when he was finally able to speak.

“It was a… a, uh, good trip. Why don’t you help the Warden get the horses back to the stables?” he managed to get out, grin wavering. The Inquisitor was taller and leaner than Cullen, trained in archery and required to be lithe. He felt a gentle push against his shoulder as Fitz urged him towards the lone figure and the horses that they had begun to wrangle. “As a favor. To me? I’ll… well, I guess, I am in charge of you… so, as an order. From me...”

Fitz trailed off before making a swift exit, his footsteps against the stone echoing across the relative stillness of the night. With a heavy sigh, Cullen continued his steps toward the Warden, setting aside his candle on the edge of the staircase before he did so. He said nothing at first, focused on taking hold of the reigns of the free horses. Once he was confident that he had them firmly in his grasp, his head turned toward the Warden. He caught a glimpse of her eyes beneath the shroud she wore and his breath caught, hands loosing the hold he had on the horses.

> _“We were favored by Dirthamen. The mages… we were gifted with golden eyes. They glow against the darkness so we may lead the Clan in the cover of night across the plains of Nevarra. We are honored with our shown devotion being the same color of our eyes. We are well revered among the Clan, as there is… only ever one of us.”_
> 
> _He had taken to twisting a strand of her black hair between his fingers, his lips pressed against her temple. Their brief trysts under cover of night in Kirkwall kept him aching for her, to know her, to have her. “I am the last of my Clan… and a Warden. I will die the last of my Clan.”_
> 
> _Cullen tilted her face upward, taking in the gold owl tattoo across her face and the glow of her eyes in the darkness. He captured her lips in a slow, searching kiss, desperate to erase her sorrow. The two kissed until the sunrise, though she departed before she could complicate his role as Templar as an apostate mage.  
>  _

__  
Fina Ghilain lowered her hood with a weary smile. Even with the poor lighting, he could see the glimmer of the Hero’s armor. He had not seen her in that since the events at the Circle Tower. A laugh caught in his throat, arms extended to take hold of her shoulders. Cullen was as captivated by her eyes as he always had been, though he could make out the deep, dark rings that had developed beneath her eyes. She seemed thinner, a little sickly, and concern began to cloud his brow. Her spaulders had slid from her shoulders and upper arms, no longer tight enough as they had been during the Blight. She had not braided her hair as she usually did, rich, dark curls falling about her shoulders. The tips of her long ears peeked out from her hair, and he had the impulse to press his lips against her ears.

“Hello, Cullen,” she murmured, her words accented from her Nevarran origins. “I missed you dearly.”

Thousands of questions swirled through his head, though he could not focus hard enough to ask one. Instead, he embraced her, twining the fingers of his left hands through her hair. It was as soft as Cullen remembered, impossible to replicate in dreams—it was her. Fina turned her face upwards toward him, searching his face with parted lips. “I thought… I thought you might have perished at the Conclave,” he breathed. His right hand was splayed across her lower back, dragging her closer to him. He bowed his head closer to her before his lips found hers. She returned his kiss eagerly, her hands resting at his shoulders.

Nearly two years of distance made their contact all the sweeter. Cullen could not drag himself away from her, nor did he make any attempt to. He had loved her since she had appeared in the Tower, barely able to speak the common tongue, far different from the other elves. She had practiced her pronunciation with him as she grew, mastering vocabulary and a dry sense of humor before her Harrowing. He had told himself every year to practice mindful difference from Fina, to not seek out her company and the desire to speak with her, but he failed. He could not help the way his heart pounded when she was near, her sharp bright eyes against her dark skin and carefully braided hair, the smiles she afforded him that she did not freely give to her peers.

Cullen would always be lost when it came to Fina. She finally pulled her lips away from his, though she still hovered close to him. “It will take more than a hole in the sky to kill me, my love. Five years ago, I slayed an archdemon. We can stop the end of the world again,” she reminded him slyly. A grin came to his face. He untangled his fingers from her hair and loosened the arm about her waist, gaze still held by hers. “We must return the horses. Then… I will answer your questions,” Fina said after a moment of silence, hands sliding from his shoulders.

He released her with a distracted nod, gathering the reigns he had dropped earlier. She gathered the ones that remained, and Cullen led her towards the stables. A comfortable silence fell between the two on their trek to secure the horses. After their task was done, Cullen took a hold of Fina’s hand, dropping his eyes to hers again.

“Stay with me tonight. Answer me questions, but… I need you to stay with me. Please, Fina.”  
****  
She hesitated before she spoke, though the corners of her lips turned upwards. “Of course. You must allow me some time to rest. It was a long journey to get here, and I have never done well in the cold,” Fina replied. He managed a brief chuckle, which widened her smile.

“I will let you sleep. Come. Come with me.”

The two ascended the stairs to the battlements beneath a blanket of stars, Cullen eager to reconnect with the woman that he had missed so dearly.


End file.
